Windows
by SNOGIRL
Summary: Daryl and Beth are arguing if Daryl still has a soul after everything that he's done. Beth makes a comment about how if maybe he cut his hair once in a while she would be able to check and see, and Daryl would be a better shot. He lets her cut his hair, and it turns out that she likes what she sees...a lot.


**Windows**

**Hey guys, I'm back. I just want to say thanks for everybody that reviewed on my last fic Wings. It means a lot. Shout out to all my anon reviewers that I obviously couldn't reach by way of PM: pennedbyme, Guest 1, thatnemokidd, Julie, Sue P, and Guest 2. All right then, that done… I don't uh- think that I have much else to say really. **

**Disclaimer: I've never owned Walking Dead, and I never will. **

I resisted the shudder that worked its way up and down my spine as the muscles in Daryl's forearms twitched against mine.

"C'mon Greene, pay attention to what I'm tryin' ta tell ya," I couldn't help the shiver that rolled through me this time, feeling that sand paper growl rumble against my back before coming out in an impatient rush near my ear.

I focused my cross eyed sight on the walker that Daryl had pinned to a tall pine's trunk in front of us. Its body hung limp, a bloody hole had already taken the place of its left eye, and an arrow kept its shoulder pinned to the bark of the tree. After seeing me squirm and with a slight roll of his eyes, Daryl had propped the crossbow against his shoulder and effortlessly taken what little life was left in the walker.

"The shootin' part is the only difference to stabbin' these damn things." Darly mumbled in my ear, flexing biceps keeping the weapon steady in my already shaking arms. Despite his help, the front of the bow dipped again, and he released another aggravated huff against my neck. "Ya always wanna aim for the same spot- right in the eyes no matter what you're usin'," His stubble scraped against my temple as he drew away. "Ya got it darlin'?" I don't even think he realized that he let the pet name slip out, those blue eyes focused more on my stance and still shaking arms than what his mouth was saying.

"Yea, I got it." I huffed. I spat out a stray bit of hair that had gotten sucked into my mouth. It still stuck wetly to my cheek. Calloused tipped fingers brushed it out of the way, tucking it neatly behind my ear. My arms and the rest of me shook for a whole other reason at the gesture.

I studied the slumped form of the walker, a girl who was most likely no older than me at one point before all of this. Her probably once beautiful hair hung now hung in her face in a stringy brown curtain. The Horton dipped down, this time for good. I let it bang gently into my shins, careful of the bolt still primed and ready to shoot. Last thing I needed was to nail myself in the foot.

"I ain't getting' any younger here Beth, an' your arms aren't never gonna get stronger if we don't practice-" Daryl began his regular droning lecture, the one he told me every time I so much as lowered the cross bow to breathe during our practice sessions.

"Do you think that her mama ever brushed her hair out of her eyes?" I asked him, still studying the walker.

"What?" Daryl grunted behind me. I shoved the crossbow at him, and ignored his cussing as the bolt shot out to bury itself deep in the rain softened ground. There had been a storm days earlier that had forced both of us to spend another night crammed in the trunk of a car.

"Do you ever think that her mama brushed her hair out of her eyes?" I repeated, walking up to the walker to do it myself. I tucked her hair behind her ear, much like Daryl had done to me. Except the walker's ear fell off to fall between my feet. Well, so much for small mercies.

"What are you doin' girl?" Daryl jerked me back, although his gruff tone was at best half-hearted.

I turned to look at him, searching for those icy blue eyes through the tangled mess of hair that was constantly in his face. "Maggie always said that the eyes were the windows to the soul."

Daryl scoffed, and swiped a grimy hand over his mouth, rubbing at his chin. "Yeah? Well quit lookin' in mine."

"Why?" I asked, bewildered as he refused to meet my gaze. Daryl's mouth curled into a smirk.

"You think that after everythin' that's happened that I got a soul anymore?"

"Yeah, I do." I cocked out a hip, and planted a hand on it. "You so convinced that eyes aren't the windows to the soul? Well, what do you see in my eyes?" I stuck my face close to his, so close that I could smell the faint scent of nicotine that lingered on his breath, even though he had smoked his last cigarette days ago.

Surprisingly, Daryl chuckled nervously, scrubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "I see a girl who needs to learn how to shoot properly if she wants to get anywhere in this world." He tipped his head back, blew out a breath, and looked at the silent trees around us. "And as for mine, I'm pretty sure I bartered the last part of my soul to the devil."

"Well maybe if you cut that mop that you call hair I wouldn't have to look so hard for it," I joked, but my voice turned serious

"Well it ain't like I'm goin' out of my way to impress nobody." Daryl sniffed, and spit somewhere over his shoulder. I wrinkled my nose in distaste, and ignored the way the slight twist of his lips sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach. He was doing it just to spite me, like the jerk he was.

"Ya know, if you cut yer hair, your aim would probably be perfect." I hopped over the string we had strung between trees to make up the perimeter of our tiny camp. I heard the empty cans clang together loudly as Daryl came crashing in behind me, already squinted eyes narrowed even more in fury.

"Whaddaya mean my aim would be 'perfect'?" He imitated me in a ridiculous falsetto that sent his voice cracking. I choked on the water that I was sipping, the cool water burning my throat as it remained conflicted as to whether it wanted to come out of my mouth or go into my stomach. "It's as damn close to perfect as it can be!"

I shrugged casually, crossing my fingers and hoping that he wouldn't just sit and brood if things turned ugly. "Eh, you know I just noticed that you were shooting less, stabbing and hitting the walkers more."

"I know that you know for a fact that it ain't easy shootin' that thing. You wanna try nailin' those suckers in the head while they're moving and trying ta take a bite out of ya?"

I held up my hands in a show of surrender. "Hey, I never claimed to be perfect, you did. You and that…hair of yours." I flicked my fingers at a sweat soaked strand that was hanging in his eyes, perfectly proving my point.

"Oh, so yer finally admittin' to yer lifelong dream to become a hair stylist for old crusty hunters," Daryl grunted, digging in his back to take a swig out of his own water.

"Rednecks," I corrected him. "When was the last time you took a bath?"

Daryl didn't even dignify this with a response, screwing the cap back on his water. He sat back with a sigh, patting his pack a few times until he was satisfied before laying his head down and shutting his eyes. "Seriously, I'm surprised that your hair hasn't slipped out of its roots because of how greasy it is," I taunted.

"Like I couldn't pull off bein' bald." Daryl didn't open his eyes, but I could see them moving beneath the closed lids.

"Don't know, might disguise the fact that you've got a receding hair line." I snickered, and immediately scrambled away as Daryl lunged towards me. His arms formed two immovable pillars on either side of my head, one knee that was peeking through a rip in his jeans planted next to my hip.

"Ya think it's such a good idea to be teasin me when I'm the one keepin ya alive?" He groused. Strands of that dark tangled hair moved lightly with my breath. When had I started panting?

"Ya think it's such a good idea to be ignorin' me when I could help you improve your aim?" I mimicked his gruff tone, and fought the urge to cough when it scraped my throat raw. While my voice came out deeper, throatier, it was nowhere close to matching the pitch of his voice. Daryl squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away from mine with a clenched jaw. I cocked my head to the side, studying the way pink hid beneath the whiskers on his face. Was he blushing? Daryl Dixon: bow master, skilled hunter and tracker, and zombie killer extraordinaire, blushing?

Daryl finally turned to face me fully again, blue eyes tearing me open inside to find out every dark, deeply hidden sin I had ever committed. He stared at me for a moment longer, gaze staring, but eyes not really seeing- off in some other world, perhaps the one before this nightmare started.

My breath hitched in my chest when those eyes zeroed in on me again. Before I could even think to blink, Daryl had shot back and was on his feet. He bent down to grab my forearm and hauled me to my feet with a grunt.

He shot me another squinty-eyed glare, before turning away to grab the Horton and step over the wire. "Where're ya think you're goin'?" I blurted out, still a bit unnerved at the thought of being left at camp alone.

Daryl stopped, and pivoted to look at me. "This 'old man'," he mocked, jutting a thumb towards his chest. "Is taking a bath so I don' get none'a yer sass anymore." I caught a snort in the palm of my hand, realizing that Daryl probably wouldn't appreciate me laughing at him. A thought struck me, and I dove into my bag. With a satisfied smile, I hopped over the wire between the trees, bag thumping against my back with too much familiarity.

"And just what do ya think yer doin'?" Daryl spat before I had even reached his side yet.

"This is probably my one and only chance to fulfill my lifelong dream remember?" I drilled a finger into his side. "Hair dresser to crusty old rednecks."

"Hunters," he corrected me with a light shove to the shoulder.

I rolled my eyes. "Rednecks. Besides," I changed the topic before he could argue further. "How are you going to get your hair clean if you don't have any soap?" he raised an eyebrow at this. I shot him a wicked grin, and slipped my bag off my shoulder. I kept one eye on where I was stepping, so that me and the rest of my stuff didn't go sprawling all over the forest floor. God forbid that Daryl Dixon had to help me pick up tampons and pads.

I waved a small, hotel sized shampoo in his face victoriously.

Daryl snatched it out of my hand, popped the cap, and took a sniff. Immediately he pulled a face. "It's that girly shit of yers," He complained, shoving it back at me. I cradled it carefully, and stored it back in my bag. It was doubtful that we were going to find soap again anytime soon.

"Yes, because sweat and walker guts is much more appealing," I scoffed. "I might actually be able to fall asleep faster if at least one part of you smelled decent." We both saw right through my lie. It wasn't Daryl's smell that kept me awake, it was the fear of the things that I would see when I fell asleep. The memories that I would have to relive.

Daryl growled something under his breath, and somehow managed to crash through the underbrush with his quiet hunter's tread. I pressed my lips together to conceal my smile, and hummed under my breath.

Sunlight shone through the thinning tree line. There was a splash that let me know that Daryl had found some source of water. I stumbled out of underbrush and shaded my eyes against the noon day sun. Daryl was already kneeling at the water's edge, splashing water on face, and scrubbing at the grit that seemed caked on his skin.

I bit my lip, dropping my pack down on the ground next to me as I crept up behind him. I took in a deep breath. I planted my foot in the center of Daryl's back and pushed him into the pond.

"And in three…two…o-"Just as I had predicted, Daryl came up spluttering, dripping, and scowling.

"What the hell was that fer?" He shouted, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

I blinked innocently at him. "Well, you did say that you were going to take a bath. Usually that means that you put your whole body in the water."

"That was my bath," He groused, and spread his arms wide. "ya happy now that my hair's clean now, Miss Hair Stylist?"

"It's clean?" My eyebrows were in danger of becoming a permanent fixture in my hair line. "Tell that to the oil that's floatin' on the water right now." Indeed, there were shimmering, swirling trails of oil that glinted at us on the pond's surface.

I placed both hands on his shoulders, and forced him to sit down hard in the shallow water. "Stay," My voice brooked no argument. I kept one wary eye on him a moment longer as I walked back to retrieve my bag from where I had dropped it. I caught a sarcastic mutter of 'Yes, Miss Greene'. I turned back with a tight, dry smile. "Good, at least we know who the adult is here."

That earned me another petulant scowl. I laughed, throwing my head back. "Dunk your head under again," I ordered in between my chortles. When I had finally caught my breath again, Daryl's once damp hair was again dripping, and droplets of water fell off of the frayed edges of his shirt back into the pond with sad little _plops_. I dug through my bag, rotating the hairbrush handle in my hand. I toed off my boots and socks, cutting through the water to stand behind him. Cool silt squished between my curled toes.

"This is probably gonna hurt," I warned him. I dragged the bristles backwards from the middle of Daryl's hairline, wincing as I encountered a knot already. He let out a yelp as his head jerked backwards with the stroke of the brush. I tilted it downwards again, none too gently when he grumbled at me again. I brushed over and over it until eventually the strands yielded to my coaxing hands. Finally it lay smooth against his head, combed away from his face. I rocked forward on the balls of my feet to look at his face, tilting his head back at the same time to look at him. "Wasn't so bad now was it?"

"I thought you were gonna cut my hair, not braid it," he grumbled.

"Might as well cut it first and then wash everything out of it," I reasoned awkwardly. I unhooked my knife from my belt, considering how it glinted off the blade in the sunlight. The scars on my wrist flashed, and reminded me of another day when I had done the exact same thing with very different intentions.

"Yer mama ever tell ya' not to run with scissors?" Daryl grunted beneath me. I jumped a little bit.

"Good thing I've got a knife and I'm standing still," I sassed back. My hand shook a little bit as I reached forward finger comb Daryl's hair away from the back of his neck. Just as the backs of my knuckles grazed his skin, he jumped as if I had electrocuted him.

"Yer gonna try and cut ma hair with that?" He had somehow managed to scoot away from me while saying this. I huffed out a breath, and dragged heavy feet forward a few steps so that I was behind him again.

"Why, you got a pair of scissors that I can run around with instead?" I smirked at the back of his head.

"I can feel ya smirkin' back there ya know."

I grabbed another fist full of hair, hand steadier now. I slid my hand down near the ends of the strands. Daryl's hair was nearly black, the color shocking against my pale skin. Like an ink spill. I carefully turned the blade of the knife up under the locks, starting a gentle sawing motion. I started a little when the knife jerked up and I was left with a handful of hair.

I bit my lip, and began the process again. The water lapped at my ankles with my subtle movements, and Daryl's dark hair joined in its swaying around my feet. I paused when I finished the back of his neck and around his ears.

"You cut off a finger or somethin'?" Daryl turned his head to look at me, eyes darting to my hands to make sure that yes, I did indeed have all ten digits.

"I-I'm going to have to stand in front of you to finish up." I stuttered, feeling the complete weight of his stare on me like I was holding up the crossbow again.

"Well what're you waiting for?" I hurried to circle around him at his gruff tone. Silt stirred around my feet as I came to stop in front of him.

I started again, combing through some of the now shorter strands to make sure that I didn't miss any of the longer pieces. I knew I was stalling, I just didn't know why. I would have to bend down to get the hair that framed his face. The thought of having to be so close to Daryl- even though we spent every waking moment together –sent electricity humming beneath my skin.

I finished the top of his head, and resigned myself to kneel in front of Daryl. On my way down, I saw him raise an eyebrow high, hiding it in the still long strands that covered his face. "It's an awkward angle from up there." I mumbled, grabbing a hunk of hair near his temple to distract myself and him. Even with him basically sitting in front of me, and me kneeling, his head was still slightly higher than mine. It put my elbow near his mouth as I positioned the knife carefully, and I nearly cut off his ear when his breath broke against the sensitive skin.

"Careful there Greene," Oh dear sweet God, his lips were practically pressed up against my arm. I moved quickly after that, quick enough that I nicked my finger and had to stifle a whimper of pain.

"There." I tried to keep my voice from shaking. "Not terrible. Hopefully we can have a squirrel for dinner now that you can actually see where you're shooting." Were his eyes tracing the heat that lingered on my cheekbones like I imagined he was? I stood up quickly, and turned my back to him. I replaced the knife in its sheath as I bent over to dig through my bag on the shore again. I came out with the shampoo again, turning it over and over in my hand.

I considered the shampoo in my hand and Daryl's hair again. There was probably only three or four ounces left in it. Enough for _maybe_ two washes. As I dumped the milky liquid into my hand, the number of washes was reduced to one. I went behind him again. After spending so much time with him- every second of every single day –you would think that I would get used to him sending me funny looks every once and a while; that wasn't the case. More so now than before the prison, I felt as if Daryl's eyes were constantly analyzing me, judging me.

"Stay still, you don't want soap in your eye," I warned. Daryl scoffed.

"Maybe it'd be better if I had soap in my eyes, wash those damn, 'windows to ma' soul' you keep talkin' about, clean." I could practically see him bending his fingers to put the mocking words in quotations.

"Keep it up, and the only thing I'm going to be washing out is your mouth." I scolded, my voice holding both warning and disappointment.

Satisfied that he was going to keep his eyes shut, I carefully scooped up a small handful of water in my free hand. I kept one eye on the shampoo in my other hand, being sure that I didn't spill a drop of it. I poured it over Daryl's head, rewetting his hair before scrubbing the soap in. I could literally see Daryl tense up, like he was hunting, and his prey was just in front of him. Idly I ran my fingernails along his scalp, and those tensed muscles shuddered before going lax. All I could see now were those blue eyes, narrowed and dangerously, hypnotically focused with his slow, smooth movements. I dug my fingers in, intent on getting all the grit out of the roots of his hair before I rinsed the soap out.

Both our eyes popped open as a moan slipped out of Daryl's mouth.

"God fuckin' dammit!" He yelled, hands immediately shooting up to his eyes. Daryl bowed his head over them, as if he was in deep prayer. Seeing as he had just taken the Lord's name in vain, I suspected that was the last thing he was doing.

"I told you-" I started on a sigh, wrinkling my nose just a bit as my toes dug into the cool, squishy bottom of the pond.

"Don't you dare even think of sayin' I told ya so!" Daryl went to push his hair out of his face, and paused for just a second when he remembered that I had just cut it. His hands immediately returned to his eyes, the heels of his hands rubbing-

"Don't do that!" I yelped, forcing him to his knees and tugging him over to the bank. I kept a firm grip on his forearms as I pushed him down. I ignored the gritty sand that mixed with the soap in his hair for now. There would be time later. "You'll just irritate your eyes more! You need to flush out the soap with water." The water lapped at Daryl's heaving shoulders, a sign of the vicious breaths that he was pushing out through clenched teeth.

"You have to open them first," I coaxed gently, bringing a hand up to smooth the wrinkled lines between his eyebrows. My thumb traced one of those dark arches, palm cupping his sharp cheekbone. This close to him, I could see how bad the bruises were underneath Daryl's eyes; I reminded myself to take the watch tonight so that they would fade, if only just a little.

"Open," I cooed again, in a tone that I usually reserved only for Judith. "Open your eyes, Daryl." His eyelids twitched, and I hurriedly cupped water in my hands as they fluttered open.

"This is going to hurt," I stated loudly as I began to pour the water and Daryl began to curse me out. "You either keep your eyes open and I flush 'em, or you keep 'em closed and they hurt worse for longer." I threatened, and after another garbled curse, Daryl's eyes popped open again.

I nearly mirrored Daryl's position over me from before in the camp, two hands braced on either side of his head and a knee next to his hip. "Are you okay?" I asked, eyes searching for traces of pain. He hid them in the lines of his face, but I knew every single one like the back of my hand.

"M'fine, woman," He grouched, but still didn't make any move to get up. His head lolled against the sand, the suds that had built in his dark hair no match against the warm sand. Just over the lapping of the water I could hear the faint popping of the bubbles.

I got another handful of water, intending to rinse what little soap was left in his hair. Daryl caught my forearm before I could, splashing water all over both of our already soaked torsos. "What do ya think you're doin'?" His gruff tone was half-hearted, as if he was too tired to really care at the moment.

"I'm going to rinse your hair out. Still not quite finished with your hair appointment Mr. Dixon," My eyelashes on my right eye whispered over my cheek in a saucy wink without my say so. A blush stained my cheeks bright red. I tried to grab another handful of water in hopes that Daryl wouldn't notice. Of course he did though. Daryl always seemed to notice everything.

"All you had t'do was ask, Miss Greene," He said in a way that maybe Jimmy would've once, but when Daryl said it that way it sounded absolutely ridiculous. Daryl shifted onto his elbows, forcing me back so that he could get up. He dunked his head obligingly none the less. When Daryl came back up, a smirk was already in place. I had just parted my mouth to ask what was so funny when he shook his head like a dog, flinging water everywhere and on everything.

I sputtered, spitting water out of my mouth. I shoved his shoulder as Daryl continued to laugh at me. "It's not funny," I fumed, resisting the urge to poke my lip out and cross my arms in a pout.

"Whatever you say, Greene, whatever you say." I sat back on my haunches as Daryl turned towards me again. "So these old and dusty windows clean enough for you to see that soul of mine yet?" He'd meant to ask sarcastically I was sure, but a note of desperation had entered his voice.

Unbidden, my mind flashed back to that night when I had only caught a glimpse of the pain that hid behind his eyes as that little redneck shack in the woods burned down. I thought I had imagined it then, telling myself that it was a trick of the flickering light. Now with his hair cropped short, if a little uneven, and streams of water running into those wild, desperate eyes I knew that I had been right.

I caught myself before I cocked my head to the side, taking the moment to really study him. Daryl's face had always seemed so- gaunt, before. Those tangled dark strands had bled shadows onto his face, added years to it that didn't belong there yet. Now, I could see the lines of his cheekbones, the defiant set of his mouth, and the strong line of his clenched jaw.

Handsome.

I had taken too long. I realized too late when Daryl began to turn his face away from mine, red flitting over his cheekbones. I gripped his whiskery chin firmly between my fingers, increasing the pressure of the tips when he tried to jerk away again. I raised my chin in a challenge. "Look at me." I ordered quietly. His eyes flicked to my face, but he didn't meet my gaze. I could feel him focusing on my nose, the freckles that were sprinkled over my cheeks, the arch of my eyebrows… "Daryl Dixon, _you_ _look at me right now_." With an aggravated huff, those blue eyes focused on mine.

"I see someone who had to grow up too fast and has done things that he's not proud of. I see someone who's learned now to grow too attached to people because you know better than anyone else that nobody is ever around forever. I see someone who's done things that they _should_ take pride in but refuses to realize it. I see someone who is strong and stubborn and a real jack ass sometimes, but tries to make up for it later when he thinks no one else is looking. I see someone who refuses even the idea of there being any sort of goodness in him." I moved my hand firmly to his jaw when his head tilted down almost bashfully. "Maybe you need to take a good long look in a mirror Daryl, because I don't see whoever you were before the world went to hell. All I see is that soul of yers. The devil hasn't taken it yet."

Daryl mumbled something under his breath. My hand fell away from his face, thumb ceasing its arrant stroking near the corner of his mouth immediately. "What?" I questioned, face burning red now. Oh God, what had I been thinking letting my thoughts run my vocal chords? I swallowed, throat suddenly bone dry and all out of sassy comebacks.

"I-I'm not like this," Daryl insisted, eyes more than just desperate now, a little crazed. It was his turn to force me to look at him now. Those strong fingers could kill me with just a flick of his wrist, whispered over my skin in just the lightest of touches. As if he pressed too hard, I would evaporate into thin air. "I'm not sweet, or kind, or cute, or any of those other mushy, girly words of yers." He spat out the words like they were poison. Each one hit me like a physical blow, burning at my skin and making my eyes sting.

"You asked me what I saw in those windows of yers," He said slowly, breathing more controlled now. "I see goodness. So much there that sometimes it scares me. The reason that I don't got no goodness anymore is because goodness in this kind of world is dangerous. It can get you killed. Hell, it was dangerous for me even before the turn." My entire world stuttered to a halt when Daryl's hand left my cheek to grip my fallen hand in his and press it to his chest. "The only reason that there would ever be goodness here," He knocked my loose fist against his chest. "In this soul that you think that I somehow still possess after everything I'm done, is because you put it there."

Daryl's eyes flickered back up to mine, and he moved ever so slightly closer to me. His hand dropped away from mine. My fingers trembled as I slowly uncurled them against his chest, palm pressing flat against the skin over his racing heart. "I see everythin' that goes through those eyes of yers Beth Greene." He whispered. "You're a book that never needs to be cracked, you're already open."

"Everythin'?" I was whispering too now, even though there was no one around for miles with a beating heart. My own convulsed at the thought of him being able to pry into my deepest secrets just by looking into my eyes.

"Everyhin," he confirmed, a smirk flitting over his mouth. "I caught you eyein' me earlier. Not such an old man am I?"

That infuriating smirk only grew as my mouth popped open, trying to form words and put them into a proper sentence.

"What, all out of sassy comebacks Miss Hairdresser?" He snarked, laughter thrumming in his deep, raspy voice.

I growled, low and feral, and carded my fingers through his newly cut hair to yank his mouth down to mine. Our teeth crashed together, hard enough to make my gums cringe, and a whimper to escape me. As the heat of Daryl's lips seared mine, I made another noise. It could've possibly been a purr. I smiled against those chapped and so warm lips as one of his own slipped out.

I'm not sure how long we stood there, both soaked to the skin with the sun glinting off the water, and my fingers weaving into Daryl's thick, dark hair. I pulled away first, and watched with baited breath when his eyelids fluttered open.

"Now who's easy to read?" My voice was hushed, uneven from lack of oxygen. He huffed out a weak laugh, cradling my jaw in those capable and calloused hands of his. Something in those usually guarded eyes of his shone out, clear and bright. Brighter than the sunlight reflecting on the water, and warmed me better than any fire. "I just…needed to get a little bit closer."

"Well sticking close to me is how you survive," Daryl said quietly, clear eyes tracing the lines of my face.

"Sticking close to you is how I've kept living."

…**I hope you all got my subtle- surviving isn't living little spiel at the end there. If you didn't…well, now you should. Thanks for reading!**

**Reviews are loved, the people who write them even more so.**

**SNO.**


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